


Fourth Power

by kosame



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Applied Phlebotinum, Comedy, Crossdressing, Genderswap, Genre Savvy, Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M, Meta, TV Tropes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosame/pseuds/kosame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweden and Denmark wake up genderswapped. Finland has the answer. Denmark is deeply unhappy. Sweden confuses everyone. Norway has no patience for this. And Iceland is not in this story because he has better things to do than get caught up in the drama, seriously, what did you think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from APH Kink meme, although I did futz with the ending [[Here](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21125.html?thread=84897669#t84897669)]
> 
> Original prompt: _Denmark and Sweden wake up genderbended. Reason is up in the air. Trying to manage their daily lives and their partners when they are suddenly the opposite sex. Bonus - Denmark is highly embarrassed. Because we never see him embarrassed._
> 
> Warning for genre savvy Finland and a slight spoiler/taking liberties with the Halloween 2011 event. I also learned today that there were people ice skating in Finland 4000 years ago!

The sun was shining, the birds were singing; it was a beautiful morning in Denmark. Or, at least, it should have been. Denmark himself awoke in high spirits, taking a deep breath and stretching widely. He threw aside his blankets, swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and promptly fell flat on his face.

He was quite confused, not least because he had been getting out of bed every morning for hundreds of years and had never tripped over his own two feet before. Pulling himself up using the edge of the mattress, he took several slow, shaky steps toward the dresser on the other side of his room. The ground seemed to be too far away, and each step sent a wave of pain up his legs as he fell forward into them. Gradually, his body began to compensate for the strange situation, and he was nearly walking regularly by the time he reached his destination, which was fortuitous considering he certainly would have fallen over at what was in the mirror hanging there if he'd been any less steady on his feet.

There was a strange woman looking back at him. A strange woman, he realized slowly, who had to be him.

* * *

In Sweden the morning was no less glorious, but since it was Sunday, there was no reason to get up. Slowly Finland reached the hazy state between asleep and awake, and considered going back to sleep, until he realized the chest he was using as a pillow was considerably more ample than the flat one he'd gone to sleep on.

"Augh!" He shot up, pushing himself up with his arms to get as far away from the mysterious woman he had been unintentionally groping in his sleep as possible.

"Ng?" she grunted, stirring and glaring at Finland something fierce.

 _As she should_ , Finland chastised himself, _you were getting awfully friendly for someone who doesn't even know her!_ After his initial panic subsided slightly, however, he realized she wasn't glaring so much as squinting at him as if she couldn't really see him, and it just happened to look incredibly scary and-- "...Sve?"

"Wassamatter, Fin?" the woman slurred, clearly still not quite awake. She turned to the bedside table and felt around for Sweden's glasses, slipping them on when she found them and turning back to Finland.

"Uh, Sve," he began hesitantly, "You, uh, you're a little..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

The probably-not-a-stranger-after-all sat up, impossibly long blonde hair falling around her face and shoulders as she took a look at herself. "Got turned into a woman."

"Looks like it," Finland agreed, deciding this must be his Sweden and not involve that alternate universe Estonia had told him about.

Sweden turned to Finland, looking bewildered, and he couldn't get over how similar yet how different she— _he_ looked. He was so busy trying to reconcile the two in his head, it took him a few seconds to realize Sweden seemed to be waiting for him to say something. "I'm sure we can fix it," he tried. "There is one thing that works in all the stories..."

"What stories?"

"The ones Hungary send me links to. People get genderswapped for no discernible reason in them all the time."

Sweden's expression suggested he was deeply suspicious of any methodology suggested in the things Hungary read in her spare time, but with no alternative, he asked, "What do they do?"

Finland smiled the smile he always smiled when he wanted to look sweet and innocent but actually he was thinking thoughts the content of which was along the lines of the aforementioned links. It wasn't everyday you found out your hot boyfriend was still really hot in a girl's body, after all.

* * *

After sufficient poking of himself in the face to verify he had, for reasons unknown, woken up a woman, Denmark made the only logical decision and got breakfast. He carefully pondered his predicament as he laggardly lingered over his toast.

If at all possible, he wanted to avoid public knowledge of the situation. His boss, for example, would probably draw the entire government into analyzing what this meant and writing reams of reports, despite the fact that, as far as Denmark knew, it didn't "mean" anything. Usually when someone woke up as something they were not meant to be, the cause could be traced back to another nation's zany misadventures.

So then, Denmark supposed, he had the day to figure out how to disguise himself well enough so as not to cause alarm until he got word as to whose experiment gone horribly wrong he'd fallen victim to this time.

Starting with his clothes, he thought, forlornly poking one breast through where it pulled strangely at the buttons of his sleep shirt. Not being naive, he resolved to google crossdressing after washing the dishes.

* * *

"Not complaining," Sweden said as he cuddled into Finland's side, now 100% sure his wife had had a girlfriend in the period they were estranged, not that he was jealous, "but 'm still a woman."

"Maybe I forgot to mention," he answered lightly, "They usually have lots and lots of sex before it works."

Sweden pushed himself up to loom over Finland, one hand on either side of his head. He narrowed his eyes as if to say, "Yer teasing me."

Finland, however, looked a little dazed. Expression soft, he breathed, "You're gorgeous."

Unable to stop the surprise in his eyes or the blush, Sweden froze at the compliment.

"Not that you're not handsome normally," Finland rushed to stammer, "You're always really hot, I mean."

To stop his wife from misinterpreting his reaction any further, he leaned down and kissed Finland sweetly, slowly, deliberately.

* * *

It was a huge relief to have the ground back where he expected it to be, or so Denmark thought as he left the shoe store. He'd bought a pair of black boots with wide heels that made up the height he'd lost without making him feel like he was going to fall over like some of the thinner heels he'd tried.

They were the last things on the list of supplies he'd put together using the guidance of the internet. He had guessed a little at the make up, but he wasn't too worried, because he was going to have to hide his adorable-but-quite-girlish cheeks, which had rounded out his face beyond the ability of cosmetics to restore.

Still, he was confident there would be no problem. He pulled scarf up higher around his face and headed for home to see how well he could pull off being himself.

* * *

It was the loud gurgle of Sweden's stomach that finally got the two of them out of bed for a shower and then what was fast becoming lunch. Finland laughter was cut short, however, as he rushed forward to catch Sweden after his first unsteady step.

"You okay? Dizzy?"

He shook his head, standing himself back up but not letting go of Finland's steady arms. It reminded him of when his wife had taught him to skate. "Ground's not where it should be."

"Now that you mention it," Finland said, looking up at Sweden speculatively, "You don't seem to be towering as much as you usually do."

Sweden tried taking another step, but fell again. He made a noise of frustration.

With a fond smile, Finland knelt down and told Sweden he'd carry him piggyback. "Too bad there's not a wife carrying competition today," he joked, but Sweden heard the wistfulness hidden underneath. He wasn't opposed to it in general, but.

"'M too big," Sweden mumbled sullenly against Finland's shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Know you've always wanted to run one. Rules say you can carry a friend's wife. Don't have many married friends, but maybe you could borrow Austria?"

Finland was silent for a long moment. "I know I'm probably wasting my breath, but men aren't wives. Also, Austria and Hungary are divorced."

Sweden didn't even acknowledge he had said anything.

Sighing deeply in resignation, Finland set Sweden down in the bathroom where he could grab the sink if he thought he was going to fall again. "We should probably put your hair up."

Nodding, Sweden said, "'ll call someone with long hair tomorrow 'f yer plan doesn't work."

Finland smirked for a moment, then said, "I'll go get some string or something to tie the ends off with," and left.

Slightly afraid of letting go of the sink, Sweden turned to look for his comb, and caught his first glimpse of his reflection. He could see why Finland hadn't recognized him at first, especially with the oodles of tresses falling everywhere. It seemed impossible a person could have so much hair, but then, the hair was probably the least unbelievable facet of his transformation. Transfixed by the mirror was how Finland returned to find him.

"You haven't started."

"Uh," Sweden said, picking up the comb and clumsily pulling it through his long locks, getting tangled in them before he could contort himself properly to reach all the way to the end.

"As hilarious as this is to watch," Finland cut in, stifling giggles, "how about I help you?"

Sweden's expression crumpled in embarrassment, but he handed over the comb and let himself be led to sit on the lid of the toilet. It was simultaneously nice and strange, having Finland hum to himself as he worked the knots out of his hair and parted it in two.

"Here," Finland said, handing Sweden half of his hair. "You braid this side, and I'll do the other."

"Uh," Sweden said again. "Don't know how," he admitted.

Finland made a noise that was simultaneously exasperated and fond. "I can't believe someone who's lived as long as you have can't do a simple braid."

Sweden shrugged, and the pair fell back into silence. As he tied the end of the first braid with the string Finland had brought, he said, "Hungary carried Austria."

"What?"

"At Halloween."

"Sve," Finland said, and Sweden knew to let the subject drop. He didn't say anything as his wife pulled his braids up into milkmaid style. "There you go. You look just like Mother Svea."

Sweden turned and gave him a look.

"Okay, maybe not 'just like,'" Finland hedged.

He kept looking.

"Okay, nothing like her at all!" Flustered, Finland began to inch away. "You just have a shower, and--" He was cut off by Sweden reaching out and snatching his wrist before he could get far at all. "Or, we could take a shower together."

Apparently satisfied, Sweden stood and pulled him along, leading the way with shaky steps.

* * *

After checking his e-mail for what seemed like the hundredth time to find no mention of anything like his problem in his inbox, Denmark was beginning to get frustrated. It did occur to him other nations who had been affected might also be trying to wait it out without owning up to it, but at the very least there should have been an apology from whomever had done it. There was no way he could be the only one.

Either way, it was hard to wait when everything about his body felt so wrong. He had quite a few mirrors in his home to make it look bigger and brighter, but for the first time he regretted it, because he couldn't seem to escape the face that was his but wasn't. His new hair tickled his neck, and his new hands looked too small against the book he was trying to concentrate on. Everything was getting under his skin in that it was literally his skin that was bothering him.

Sighing, he gave up on reading and leaned back in his armchair, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind.

* * *

When Finland hit the alarm clock bright and early Monday morning, it took him almost no time at all to gather his wits and steel himself before turning over to see what the morning had brought for Sweden.

"Morning," Sweden rumbled in his familiar bass, completely back to normal.

"Oh good, it worked!"

"Sounds like you didn't think it would," Sweden teased.

"Well, we did get the idea from fanfic on the internet," Finland said, giving his boyfriend a good morning kiss. "But you're lucky you had me to suggest it."

"Thank you," Sweden said, half-sincerely, half joining in Finland's laughter. "Who knows what would have happened otherwise."

"There's always someone who gets stuck for weeks because they can't get over their issues regarding the person they clearly have massive UST with," he agreed.

"UST?"

Finland just laughed. "Remind me to show you TV Tropes wiki next time I go away on business."

Sweden shrugged and followed Finland in getting up and ready for work.


	2. Chapter 2

Day two was manageable, but day three depressed Denmark greatly. He actually called in sick on day four, but dragged himself in to work on day five. His co-workers hadn't asked too many questions about his insistence on wearing a thick woolen hat, a scarf, gloves, and his coat indoors, which was the only bright spot in the whole affair. Though, when he thought about it, he realized he must have a reputation for being eccentric that, while deserved, caused his spirits to sink even lower.

Halfway through the second week, he had a minor meltdown, thankfully at home. It was tortuously stifling under all the layers he had to wear in the office. He had to stay at home with the blinds closed for fear his neighbors would notice. He just could not shake the feeling that his body was different and wrong. And he couldn't even call his best friend and complain about it to him.

Not that his finger hadn't hovered over the "call" button several times, but his desperation to hear Norway's voice hadn't yet overridden the humiliation telling him what had happened to him would bring. As much as he craved hearing the sound of his friend's laugh once again, he couldn't bear the thought of it being derisively directed at him.

* * *

Sweden was used to things freezing, it was a hazard of being situated as north as he was. But he wasn't used to Denmark freezing, or Denmark being quiet at all. "Sorry t' come by without calling," he tried carefully, feeling distinctly off-balance having spent a full minute in the Dane's office without any fighting.

"S'okay," came a hoarsely whispered response. "Just not been feelin' well recently."

Taking the opportunity of Denmark refusing to meet his eyes, Sweden studied the other man carefully, noting the strange choice of winter outerwear indoors. He didn't know how he made the connection, but he ventured a tentative hypothesis anyway. "You wake up a woman two weeks ago by any chance?"

The expression in Denmark's eyes as his head shot up said mortification. He was started to his feet. "How'd ya know?" he demanded desperately, losing the pretense of a cough he didn't have.

"Woke up that way myself."

"But... You're back."

"Fin knew," Sweden shrugged. Then he remembered what else Finland had predicted.

"How did Fin know?"

"Hungary." Without so much as a transition phrase, Sweden continued, "You have the UST. Actually, BST."

"The what?"

"Gotta resolve the sexual tension, or you can't change back."

"Norge and I are just friends!" Denmark insisted, his new voice going a little shrill.

"Everyone Can See It, Dan," Sweden said wisely.

"It's not like that," Denmark said weakly, not sounding convincing even to his own ears.

Sweden gave him a disappointed look, after which he pointed out, "Never mentioned Norway's name, did I?"

A brilliant blush spread all the way up Denmark's face to even the sliver Sweden could see. "He can't see me like this. It's bad enough you're seeing me like this."

"What's so embarrassing 'bout it?" Sweden asked. "'Less you make 'n ugly woman?"

"I—" Denmark stammered. He changed tack. "You can't call him. Promise me you won't call him."

If Denmark wanted to draw it out unnecessarily, there was nothing Sweden could do about it, he supposed. "Fine. I won't. Now, 'bout this bridge..."

* * *

"You were right," Sweden said as Finland set his briefcase down and hung up his coat.

"About what?"

"Ran into Dan today. He's a woman."

There was a beat as that information sank in. "Oh no," he said gravely, "the UST."

Sweden nodded just as seriously. "Tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. Made me promise not to call Norway."

"This is terrible, Sve, we can't just leave him like that!"

"Made _me_ promise," Sweden repeated significantly.

"Oh." Feeling a little foolish, Finland immediately reached for the phone.

* * *

Denmark was disappointed and panicked but not surprised when Norway burst into his office the next day around lunch time. Without so much as a greeting, he marched himself over to lean down to Denmark's eye level and regard him carefully from the other side of the desk. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, then brought a hand up toward Denmark. Half expecting to be hit, he flinched, but the touch turned out to be gentle, a palm on his forehead. He tried to jerk away as best he could, but Norway sat heavily in the chair opposite him moments later and crossed his arms crossly.

"Fin made it sound like you were dying. You don't even have a fever."

"'M fine," Denmark croaked. He felt wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"What?" Norway demanded testily.

"You'd care if I was dying?" Denmark said, not even needing to disguise his voice. "I knew we were best friends!"

"Shut up about that, you annoying idiot. Tell me what's wrong with you."

In the face of Norway's glare, Denmark blurted "UST," then immediately cursed Sweden and that website that had kept him up into the wee hours of the morning clicking on interesting links. "Whatever you do, don't google that!" he added immediately.

Norway then left as abruptly as he'd come, presumably to go google that. Denmark put his head on his desk and wondered what, exactly, he had done to make the universe so angry with him.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir, but we're closing."

Norway looked up at her, disoriented, then quickly down at his watch. When did it get to be this late? He had only intended to look up "UST" and somehow it was already six. Snapping his laptop shut as he stood, he beat a hasty exit from the shop, thinking quickly to himself what number would be best to call Finland at.

"Hello?"

"Went to see Dan. Nothing wrong with him, other than the usual."

"It's a grave problem," Finland intoned heavily, though there was more than a hint of melodrama now that Norway had verified for himself that Denmark was fine. "I know he's trying to keep it from you, but he really needs your support."

Norway frowned, though it ended up being at the poor students at the bus stop, not the person he wanted to rain displeasure upon. "Cut the crap, Fin."

"I'm serious! Serious situation, serious request!"

Cutting the connection without saying goodbye, he huffed and turned in the direction of Denmark's house. Whatever Finland's ulterior motives were, he seemed to sincerely believe Norway should try again, so he decided he would. For Finland's sake, not out of concern for Denmark or anything. Of course.

* * *

Finland put the phone back in the cradle and joined Sweden in the kitchen with a sigh. "I really don't know if that's going to work out."

Sweden shrugged. "Don't think Dan can handle being a woman much longer."

"He's anxious about it?"

Merely grunting in the affirmative, Sweden didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"Come to think of it, you were pretty unruffled by it."

"Figured it would go away quickly. 'Sides, you didn't seem bothered."

Finland laughed a little awkwardly to avoid admitting that at several points he'd only kept it together because Sweden was so unfazed. "You've always played it fast and loose with gender anyway."

As hard as it was to interpret Sweden's wordless communication at times, the look he was currently receiving left no doubt that Sweden had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. It brought back the niggling feeling of dissonance from the conversation they'd had while Finland had been carrying him. Sweden's reaction when he'd joked about wife-carrying was to assume it would be Finland doing the carrying and lament his height, not assert that Finland was _his_ wife, or even to suddenly become aware of the fact that they'd never actually been married. "But you're not my wife," he blurted, realizing only as his watched Sweden cringe and turn away to stir the gravy that what seemed obvious to him might be hurtful to say to Sweden. "I--I didn't mean--"

"No, I understand."

Finland imagined he could feel his brain cleaving cleanly in two as he tried to wrap his mind around what the deep hurt in Sweden's voice could mean. "Sve," he said slowly, not quite able to believe he was only just now asking this question. "What does the word 'wife' mean?"

"When a man marries someone, that person is his wife," Sweden answered, nonplussed.

Suddenly centuries of misunderstanding were all clear, and Finland had no choice but to start laughing. "No, that's not," he struggled to get out between guffaws, "I can't believe, for all this time--"

Sweden looked like he was starting to get a little angry.

Tamping down his giggles, Finland stated in the most neutral voice he could, "'Wife' and 'husband' don't refer to the gender of the person they married, they refer to the gender of the person themselves."

"So when you got angry about being m' wife--"

"It's because a wife is always a woman. I thought you--"

"Oh. 'M sorry, I didn't know--"

"No, I'm sorry, I never thought you wanted--"

"No, it's m' fault, I should've--"

Finland collapsed into laughter again, leaning heavily against Sweden, who seemed to be more amused than embarrassed himself. "We're a pair, aren't we?"

"So I should call you m' husband?"

Finland considered objecting, then deciding he didn't really care about technicalities like vows. "Yeah, Sve. Yeah."

* * *

Grumbling under his breath, Denmark set down his briefcase and began to pull off his gloves one finger at a time. Leave it to Sweden to invent something that definitely wasn't going on between Denmark and Norway, especially since he'd been the one to break them up in the first place. It wasn't like Denmark had just given up, either; he'd waited patiently for the inevitable implosion of Sweden-Norway, only to realize that Norway didn't want anything to do with him anymore, if he'd ever actually had any feelings for him at all. That was a hundred years ago now, and Denmark was _over it_. He was fun and flirty, not pathetically carrying his torch for his ex.

Modern-time-enduring-peace aside, sometimes Denmark really hated Sweden.

He'd only been able to get one glove off when the doorbell rang.

"Is it that you turned into Russia?" Norway asked flatly, stepping forward forcefully, with confidence Denmark would automatically retreat backward.

"Huh? No." He barely avoided tripping over his own feet, indeed ceding all the ground Norway cared to take.

"Then what is this life-or-death thing I apparently need to know about?"

Denmark swallowed audibly. "It's nothing."

"Take that scarf off," Norway plowed ahead. "Can't see how poorly you're lying to me."

"'D rather not."

Norway rolled his eyes and reached out to rip the scarf away, but Denmark caught his hand, squeezing his fingers almost painfully. Staring down at him, he realized something that might have been called fear had appeared faintly in the recesses of Norway's eyes. "What, do you have scars now?" he asked, but there was something wavering behind the demand.

"It's nothing ya need to worry about, Norge," Denmark said, trying to sound as soothing as he possibly could while still forcing his voice down an octave.

"Like hell it's not," Norway hissed, wrenching his arm away. "Fin knows but I don't?"

"Only 'cause Sve told him."

"Sve knows too?"

Denmark shifted uncomfortably. "'S not like I volunteered it, he guessed."

Frustrated beyond even what the Dane usually inspired, Norway did the only thing he could be expected to do: he lunged for the big fluffy ball on the top of the other's hat. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the choppy locks falling gently around Denmark's face as he stared, mortified, at the winner of the tussle. "Take it off," Norway said in a voice that didn't sound like his own to his ears.

Looking like he was being sent to his death, Denmark complied, first unwrapping the scarf, then the coat, and finally the boots, stepping down to his new natural height. He didn't say a word as his friend took the sight of him in and silently let himself be backed against the hallway wall as Norway crowded close enough that they were breathing each other's breaths. "Norge?" he asked hesitantly after a few long moments of nearly going cross-eyed trying to read his friend's expression.

"You're still taller than me," Norway spat, as though bitterly disappointed.

"Sorry?" Denmark rather thought he was the one whom the universe had deeply wronged, and they were practically the same height anyway. He consciously resisted the urge to squirm, as he uncomfortably discovered the insinuations that he was not unaffected by Norway were not completely unfounded.

"And you need to stop blushing, because your round pink cheeks, they look, in the most objective sense, cute," Norway went on, as though he was horrified by what he was saying and yet unable to stop himself.

"We're best friends," Denmark tried with a question in his voice, not sure what exactly he was trying to do.

"Stop saying that. I don't want to be your best friend."

That probably would have hurt more if Norway wasn't staring at his lips. "Colleagues. Acquaintances. Neighbors." Denmark threw out one after the other, as though one would hit the switch and divert this train onto the other track away from the washed out bridge and subsequent doom.

Looking him straight in the eye, Norway almost seemed fond in his anger. "How dense _are_ you?"

"Very dense, because I'm not understanding what's going on here."

"Shut up."

"But if you could just--"

"I'm going to kiss you, shut up."

Denmark immediately fell silent, resigned to his fate and not finding it within himself to regret it. Even though he knew objectively it was different, the familiarity of Norway's lips on his made his heart simultaneously do loop-de-loops and ache with how much he had missed this closeness. It took him by surprise, but he wasn't about to waste the opportunity now that it seemed he was still in love with Norway and Norway still loved him. When they parted for air, he said, "I think we should have sex." Norway's response was to kiss him again. "Not to be demanding," another kiss, and a hand in his hair, "but Sve seemed to think--"

"Don't mention him, you'll ruin the mood, idiot." Norway not-so-gently nipped at Denmark's neck by way of distraction.

"He just came into my office and started talking in Capitalized Noun Phrases," Denmark continued, not sure exactly when he'd become unable to stop his verbal diarrhea at such an _important time_. "I think it'll turn me back."

Norway groaned, but not in a good way. "Forgot how much you _talk_. Can't even trust you to do this one thing right."

Not sure how to apologize for speaking without speaking, which would require an apology, which would require an apology, which would turn into an infinite feedback loop, Denmark instead decided to only address the second half of the complaint, taking it as a challenge. He flipped their positions, sandwiching Norway between the wall and his body and kissing him for all he was worth.

He didn't miss Norway's self-satisfied smirk as his arms came up around Denmark's back and crushed him even closer, but all he could think was, _finally, finally, finally_.

* * *

"Wish you had said somethin' sooner," Sweden said as they snuggled together on the couch after dinner. "Had no idea Swedish and Finnish were so different."

Ordinarily, Finland might have struggled inwardly with the urge to close his book, retrieve a dictionary, and replace the newspaper in Sweden's hands with it. If one thing had come out of the whole experience, however, it was a sense of calm heretofore unknown to him.

He turned the page.

* * *

Denmark sighed contentedly as Norway's fingers lazily skated across his torso accompanied by a satisfied expression he'd long given up hope of ever seeing again. "Don't care why," he said, "'M glad we did this."

"It's not like I was overcome by lust. Your hair is too short, and your clothes would have made a supermodel look frumpy."

Carefully tempering his hope, he ventured, "You think I make a homely girl?"

"No rational person would have found you attractive," Norway assured him in an affectionate voice.

Denmark's heart soared; he'd been waiting a century to hear that. "I love you too, Norge."


End file.
